Reason to Live
by ExcuseMyInsanity
Summary: "And I realize now, he's not the reason for my pain and suffering. He's the answer to my questions. He's my reason to live." Post Nevermore FAX one shot


**MAX POV**

What exactly is my reason for living? What exactly is my reason for living this life, this hellish life, and then to just die? What would make anyone want to do that?

I ask myself this as I look into the mirror and try to brush the knots out of my golden hair. I squeeze into a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and my jacket before scrutinizing myself. I never used to be this way, but recently things have happened that made me completely reconsider myself. Things that that sent me into a spiral of depression and anxiety. Things that made me almost not want to live.

The one person in my life I could actually trust left me. The one person who actually made me feel, whole.

One day he was telling me he loved me, and the next, he was breaking my heart with a note. It just made me feel, unsure about myself. Like I was so horrible and ugly, and such a pain to be around, he just couldn't stand it anymore.

I look up into the mirror again, and stare into the eyes of the girl I want to see there. She looks so familiar, yet she's completely unrecognizable. We have the same shoulder length blonde hair, and thick lips and big brown eyes, but she looks like she could be _happy_. She looks like she could smile with those lips, and her eyes could light up and sparkle again. She could laugh, and joke, just like she used too.

Whereas the girl I actually see standing there, her lips are cracked and dry, those big brown eyes have big bags under them, from lack of sleep, and her hair that used to be shiny and soft, is now limp, and is plastered against her forehead.

I shake my head and turn away from the mirror. There are plenty of other things I can do than mope in sorrow and self-pity. I look around the room I'm standing in. For instance, I could clean. Because cleaning is always fun, right?

Right.

Or I could feed the kids I used to call my own. No. Iggy will take care of that. After I started to become more and more distant, Iggy slowly stated to take care of the Flock. He would do all of the cooking, (which was actually a good thing), and he would clean, and just do all the things I used to do. And as much as I hate to say it, Iggy is actually a much better leader than I ever was.

I head out the door to get some fresh air when I bump into someone holding tray of water. It spills all over me. The cold water soaks through my jacket as I stumble, and a strong arm pulls me up.

Dylan.

He smiles down at me, his sandy hair ruffled from crashing into me, and his blue eyes sparkling.

"Whoa, there Max. What's the rush?"

"Nothing," I say, as I brush my knee off, and look up at him. "I just want some fresh air, that's all."

"Oh. Well, um, I'm really sorry about spilling this all over you. Nudge is turning me into her personal servant. I'm always running round, getting snacks and drinks and fashion magazines for her." He chuckles, and smiles at me again.

I smile faintly at him. For the longest time now, Dylan has been the only one to actually talk to me, and see me for who I used to be. Everyone else just looks at me with pity, and sometimes disgust, and acts like I'm some small child who's about to die. He's the only one who still thinks I'm beautiful.

And for this reason, I try to be my cheery old self around him.

"Well, if you ever want a little break, that is, if she'll let you take a break, you can come hang out with me. I've been wanting someone to talk to for a while now. Someone who will actually have a conversation with. "

"Well, yeah. I guess I can in a little bit. If Nudge lets me go." For some reason, a part of me really, really wants to talk to him. To anybody.

"Oh just give her a stack of fashion magazines and a couple of Cokes, and she'll be happy." He laughs, and I laugh with him, halfheartedly.

"Well okay then. I'll see you in a little bit."

"Okay. I'll just be up on that big hill where we had your flying lessons," I call out as I head out the door.

I step into the cool morning breeze, and spread my wings out. I walk around the front yard a bit before taking off. It feels so amazing to be flying again. To just spread my wings, and be out in the open.

I have been flying for about ten minutes when I reach the hill. I sit down near a small pile of rock I created a few weeks ago, and rest for a few minutes. By now the wind has dried my wet clothes.

"Max," a deep voice startles me. I know it's not Dylan, his voice is much softer than that. It sounds like, no. It can't be.

I slowly turn round, expecting the worst, and a pit forms in my stomach. There he is, the reason for my pain, for my grieving, in his six foot glory. His dark hair framing his olive face, his muscles bulging from his back t-shirt.

And I know I should be mad at him. I know I should hate him and every little e thing that has to do with him, but I don't. I find myself wanting him so much. To just be with him.

"Max," he repeats, and at this, I throw myself at him. I hug him tight, and feel his strong arms wrap around my waist. I feel a tear roll down my cheek as I stare into his eyes, and then our lips meet in a deep, passionate kiss. My hunger for him being fed.

For the first time in forever, I actually feel happy. Just to be in his arms.

And I realize, he is not the reason for my pain, for my suffering. He is my remedy for the horrible state I've been in.

He is my reason to live.

And for the first time in months, I finally say his name out loud.

_"Fang"_


End file.
